


There and Back Again

by Bandearg_Rois



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death Fix, F/M, Female Bilbo Baggins, Grief/Mourning, Mutliple character death fix, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-20 03:07:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17614247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bandearg_Rois/pseuds/Bandearg_Rois
Summary: Post Battle of the Five Armies.Valeria Baggins makes the journey home to Bag End and finds that not everything is as it was supposed to be.





	1. The Way Home

**Author's Note:**

> I know it starts kind of slow but it'll speed up I promise.

Valeria watched the procession from her hiding place, unable to take part. She wasn’t close enough to hear what was said, but she didn’t really need to be, as she could guess well enough. It was the funeral procession for those lost in the Battle of the Five Armies, as it was now being called, and she knew that there were three names, at least, that were being read, three bodies laid to rest beneath the mountain with their kin. Thorin’s Last Stand, some were calling it, but it seemed such a waste. She bit down on a sob, trying not to think of the blond hair and fancy mustache that haunted her now, likely always would. She couldn’t be there with the rest of the Company, couldn’t share in their grief because hers was so immediate to her, she didn’t know how to be around them.

 

Once the procession passed, she snuck from her hidey hole and crept into the nearly abandoned camp, gathering her supplies. She was supposed to return home with Gandalf, but she couldn’t. So she would make her own way home, the long way round. She packed enough provisions into her pack that she wouldn’t have to forage for a few weeks, and waited until nightfall to leave, following the edge of the Mirkwood rather than going back through, loathe to be caught under those forbidding trees and the poison that was slowly leeching life from the entire area.

 

It took her nearly a month to skirt the forest, after which she went due west, thinking to follow the mountains south to the Gap of Rohan and cross in relative safety. She hadn’t counted on Lorien being in her way. She tried to skirt it as well, but she hadn’t even been following the tree line for half a day before she was stopped by a border party consisting of Galadriel’s son and her granddaughter, the Lady Arwen, whom Valeria had only heard tales about, having been far too young to remember meeting the young (relatively, of course) Elf on a trip with her mother.

 

“What brings you to our borders, young Hobbit?” the Lady asked, lowering her bow and motioning for the group with her to do the same.

 

“My apologies, my lady, I was simply traveling to the Gap, and didn’t realize I was so close to Lorien.”

 

“But why do you travel alone? The lands about are not safe for single travelers anymore, I fear.”

 

“I come from Erebor. I am returning to my home in the Shire, to the West. I believe it was once called Andor, not far from Imladris.” Arwen frowned faintly, then sat upon a stone, inviting Valeria to join her, and offering her some waybread.

 

“I have heard tales from our kin in the Greenwood, now called Mirkwood. It seems, though, that you have a more personal knowledge of events than could be conveyed by messenger bird and letter. If you have the time, I’d like to hear your tale. Haldir, if you could let Grandmother know we will be guesting a young Hobbit for a time? I’d like to make sure she’ll be safe returning to her home.” The blond Elf bowed and retreated into the trees along with half of the company, the other half moving a discreet distance away, as it seemed they would not be moving for a bit.

“I’m not sure mine is a tale that is worth hearing, my lady.” Valeria accepted the waybread gratefully; she’d been short of forage crossing the plains from Mirkwood and the extra food was welcome.

 

“Nonsense. All tales are worth hearing, if you but listen to them. Come now, ma’am, call me Arwen.” Startled, Valeria blushed scarlet; she hadn’t even remembered her manners!

 

“My deepest apologies Lady Arwen. My name is Valeria Baggins, at your service, and your family’s.” Arwen’s smile was enough to put her at ease, as she nibbled at the waybread and took a sip from her waterskin.

 

“Yes, Mistress Baggins, I had word from my father about your Company’s journey. If you had come but a little South instead of staying with Beorn, my people would have helped as we were able. As it was, we did not hear about Azog until it was far too late to do anything but send supplies and aid to the Mountain. But it is your tale I wish to hear, ere we are recalled to Lothlorien to face Grandmother.”

 

“Valeria, please, Lady Arwen.” At Arwen’s arched eyebrow and sparkling eyes, she wilted a little. “Arwen, then. I’m afraid my tale is rather boring.” But tell it she did, though she edited it heavily. When she was finished, even the escort had settled in to listen like faunts at their teaching. 

 

“That is… Quite a tale,” a voice from the shadows intoned when she’d finished, and everyone but Arwen jumped like scalded cats. The Lady Galadriel stepped out of the shadows of the forest, a small group of Elves with her, carrying more food and a skin of what was probably wine. “Hello, young Valeria. Your tale is quite daring and full of adventure, though I believe it is not the whole tale. Then again, nothing ever is, put through the lens of our perceptions as it is. Please, do not trouble yourself. You have traveled far and deserve far more than Lembas to slake your hunger.” Valeria found herself the guest of honor at an honest to goodness picnic lunch, with the Lady of Lorien and her kin, and was quite at a loss as to how she’d merited such attention and good favor.

 

_ ‘You have done much, young one, to aid my people. There is a Shadow from the East that has been pushed back, thanks to you and your Company, though I don’t know for how much longer that will be true.’ _ The voice was Galadriel’s, though the Elf Queen’s mouth didn’t move, except to stretch into a private smile.  _ ‘And I fear you bear much heartache. Would that I could give you ease, but grief is a complicated emotion that is difficult to treat. Try the berries, they only grow deep in Lorien.’  _

 

“So you intend to move on to the Gap of Rohan,” Galadriel said aloud, bringing the attention of their company to her. “It is not a fast journey; it will take you many weeks, perhaps months, to reach your home going that way.”

 

“The only other way is through Moria or the pass of Karadras. I’d prefer long and a little boring over fast and much more perilous.” The Elves looked like they weren’t sure if she was joking or not, but Valeria was well aware of where her strengths lay.

 

“Very well. I ask that you stay with us for at least a week, to rest yourself and give me time to craft an introduction letter to King Thengel of Rohan, so that you can pass through his lands unmolested. We will also resupply you for the trip, as it has been a long walk from Erebor, and will be a longer one from here to your home.” Galadriel’s tone brooked no argument, and in truth Valeria was relieved. She was exhausted, and this brief respite had only worsened it, and she couldn’t bear thinking of continuing on from this place without at least a couple of days’ rest. She was less happy about having to stay so close, relatively, to the place that took her heart, but she would make do, just as she had at the beginning of her journey.

 

Four days later, one of the healers came to her, while she sat near a pool, staring into the water. “Your pardon, Mistress Baggins, but I have a query.”

 

“You can certainly ask.” She was baffled. She’d had no injuries that weren’t already healed before she’d reached the border, what could the healer possibly want?

 

“When you arrived, you had nothing with you for your menses. We are gathering medical supplies and I wanted to know if you’d need them.” At this question, Valeria blinked, realizing that she hadn’t had her menses since before Durin’s Day, nearly two months before.

 

“I… I haven’t been bleeding.” The healer’s brows went up. “I… Not for two months. It is common in Hobbits that our monthlies get irregular with stress, like Men. I’m assuming I won’t regulate until I return home, and get back into a routine.” She didn’t want to think of what the other cause of no monthly bleeding was.

 

“If you’re certain… I shall put a small supply with your things, in the case that it’s needed. If you find you have need of more, Rohan should have the supplies as well, or nearly anywhere on the Great Road.”

 

“Thank you. I will keep a weather eye out. Was that all?” The healer looked flustered but nodded. “Then I shall let you get back to it. I find myself suddenly quite exhausted, and would like the chance to rest before I resume my journey.” She stood and left the healer with a small bow, retreating to the small hut that had been hastily constructed for her comfort, laying on the bed and staring up at the elaborate branches making up the roof.

 

She hadn’t lied to the healer; Hobbits really did get irregular like Men, though it took an awful lot of stress for that to happen.  _ Like losing the love of your life and his entire family, _ a traitorous voice inside whispered, and she bit back a sob, wishing that she could stop thinking about him. 

 

She had to get past this. They were gone, she had the rest of her life to live. Despite that, she woke hours later, eyes dry and stomach clenching painfully, her dreams full of hi-them, and she rolled to her feet. She needed to leave. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done.

 

The elves seemed intent on making her rest, making her wait. But it was already getting to be too late in the year, and if she delayed any longer they’d make her wait even longer until the weather settled again. She just wanted Bag End, the familiarity of her parents’ things, and the chance to grieve for what she’d lost. She needed to  _ go. _ Thankfully, Galadriel seemed to be able to read her mind, and her supplies were ready the next day.

 

“These shoes are for you, my dear,” Arwen said, handing her a small pair of sandals. “I know you made it here on your own soles, but these will make the trip easier for you, and keep the Men from looking at you askance. I hope they’re open enough not to be too uncomfortable for you.” Valeria stared down at them, their seemingly thin soles and laced straps, and frowned.

 

“Hobbits haven’t worn shoes since the Wandering Days. I’m quite sure I wouldn’t even know how to walk in them.”

 

“How will you know unless you try?” The amusement in Arwen’s voice was clear, and Valeria sighed, sitting to slip them on. They were uncomfortable, and when she stood, she was barely able to feel the earth beneath her feet. She flexed her toes and frowned, deciding to try and walk in them. She stumbled at first, and not being able to feel the dirt beneath her toes was quite disconcerting, but it wasn’t horribly difficult to figure it out.

 

“They’re dreadfully uncomfortable,” she said finally, stopping and bouncing on her toes to try and alleviate the problems. “But I suppose I can wear them if you insist.” Arwen still looked amused, but Valeria decided that ignoring her would work better than continuing the argument. She sat again and removed the shoes, bundling them together to pack them. She certainly wouldn’t be wearing them until she reached Rohan, at the least.

 

~*~

 

Finally, it was time to leave, and she was loaded down with bandages and such, and a largish bag of lembas, which would be easy to supplement with rabbits or fresh fish. That was a burden she would gladly carry, as she’d already lost far too much weight on this quest, and there was fully enough lembas to supply her for all seven meals for the rest of her journey. Hopefully, she’d be back in proper shape before she returned home. 

 

She set out from Lothlorien early the next morning, after a hearty breakfast that had been insisted upon by Arwen and Galadriel, and their warnings and well wishes rang in her ears long after she departed, the introductory letter to King Thengel safely tucked into her coat. 

 

The way to Rohan was… interesting. She had to skirt Fangorn forest, which frightened her more than anywhere she’d been, even more than Mirkwood, for the sounds issuing from within were quite terrifying, and she found herself hastening her steps. She was stopped as she made to cross the river Ondló by a group of Men on tall horses, and when she showed them her letter, the leader of the group scoffed, but found a place for her on the back of one of the horses, behind a Rider named Helmén, who was quite kind to her, for all he didn’t understand her and still thought her to be a child.

 

King Thengel,on the other hand, was quite rude, though the letter from the Lady of the Wood curbed that quite a bit, and he grudgingly provided her a pony and a small escort that would take her as far as the crossing of the river Gwathló at Tharbad, where the North-South road became the Green Way and turned more West than North. She was glad for the escort, and the pony, for both shortened her way quite a bit, and she  found herself turning off of the Green Way toward Bree by the time snow began to fall. She paid the escorts for the pony so that she wouldn’t have to walk the rest of the way on her feet; they’d become terribly tender thanks to the shoes that Arwen had insisted upon, and she didn’t relish the winter toughening them up again. She stayed the night at the Prancing Pony, and changed into a dress that was hidden at the bottom of her pack, something quite warm despite the normal climate that the maker lived in, and put the shoes in a scrap bin on her way out of Bree the next morning, riding toward her home.

 

Home wasn’t what she thought it was, though. There was a large crowd of Hobbits outside, and it seemed there was an auction going on! She pushed her way to the front, ignoring the gasps and nervous twitters of her neighbors as she did.

 

“Just what is going on here?” The main bidders had the grace to look a little shamed, as the item on the auctioneer block was her glory box. “That’s mine! What in Yavanna’s green earth is happening?!”

 

“The previous owner of this smial has been determined deceased,” a voice said from the crowd, and Lobelia Sackville-Baggins stepped out, carrying her umbrella in one hand and a baby in the other. The crowd parted, some of them slinking off.

 

“On what grounds? I sent word to the Thaín and the Mayor of Buckland about where I was going, and what I was doing. You’ve no cause to be selling my things.”

 

“That was nearly a year ago. You’ve lost your claim,” Lobelia said, triumph in her eyes. 

 

“I’m afraid Mrs. Sackville-Baggins is right,” the auctioneer said cautiously. “Unless you can prove that you had business outside the Shire, you have forfeited your right to this smial.”

 

Valeria sighed and drew the contract from her pack. It was battered but legible, and she pointed to her printed name and signature. “I was under contract to assist a group of dwarves in reclaiming their home. I was contracted by Th-Thorin Oakenshield on the advice of Gandalf the Grey. My claim stands, and I want all of my property back by nightfall or I’ll be filing a complaint with the barrister. Good day, all. Lobelia, you may collect your belongings, and  _ only _ your belongings, but I’d like you out by lunch. And no, I shan’t be feeding you. Now, be off, I’ve had a long journey and would like to rest.” The assembled crowd didn’t move, shocked into silence. “Well? Shoo!” They scattered as if she’d dropped a snake in their midst, leaving only Lobelia and the auctioneer, along with Hamfast Gamgee and his young wife Belle.

 

“Mistress Baggins, I’m right sorry,” Hamfast started, clearly having been there to try and stop the sale, and Belle stood pale and silent just behind him.

 

“It’s not your fault Ham,” she said easily, setting her pack down and setting the contract back into its pocket. “You and Belle go on home, come for tea tomorrow, alright? We’ll make an event of it.” The gardener and his wife nodded, shoulders sagging in relief as they bustled off. She knew that Ham would send one of his brothers to get some of her things back. She turned to Lobelia and the auctioneer.

 

“Now, madam,” the auctioneer started, clearly disliking the idea of losing all of the gold he’d just gotten. “You can’t just-”

 

“I can just. I just did. You will give those people back their money and arrange for my things to be returned. You entered into this bargain under false pretenses, so you may make an itemization of what was sold and for how much, and I’ll see you get your cut, but I want all of it back, down to the last spoon, or you’ll see nothing. Good day.” She turned her back on him, dismissing him, and focused on her furious cousin.

 

“Ri, really, this is unbecoming!” Lobelia said, mouth set in a hard line. “You left with nary a word and were gone almost two years! What were we supposed to think?”

 

“As I said, my grandfather, and yours, both knew what I was doing. You had no right. And even if I hadn’t come back, the smial wasn’t ever to go to you, nor any of its contents. It was to go to Aunt Mirabell’s oldest, as she has no place of her own. You and Otho have a perfectly nice smial on the other side of Hobbiton. Go. Home. Well, after you tell me the little one’s name. He looks precious.”

 

“It’s Lotho. I won’t forget this, Valeria. Of that you can be sure. I’ll send Marin by for my things.” As if she’d won the argument, Lobelia sailed off, the child waving over her shoulder, and the auctioneer finished packing up. Valeria shouldered her pack and picked up her glory box, stepping back into Bag End at last.

  
  



	2. To Home Afar

It took weeks to put Bag End to rights, and even then it didn’t really feel like her home anymore. Home wasn’t… It wasn’t a smial in the side of a hill, it wasn’t her parents’ portraits on the wall. Home was a blond dwarf and his family, their companions. Only she couldn’t have that anymore. If Azog wasn’t dead already she’d kill him herself, for taking it all from her.

 

It was a little easier to think about, after all these months, to think about Fíli, about Kíli and Thorin, about the brothers Ri, and the sons of Fundin, the Ur cousins. It still hurt, hurt abominably, but time and distance had dulled the wounds so that she didn’t shy away quite so vehemently. She still cried herself to sleep nine nights out of ten, but it wasn’t the painful, wrenching sobs that she’d experienced on her journey home. 

 

She threw herself back into life in Hobbiton, in the Shire, with a zeal that probably flabbergasted her neighbors. She went to the market, got her renters’ accounts in order, and planned a large party as her birthday approached. And in the midst of all that, she had to accept that it wasn’t just stress. She was pregnant. 

 

It was devastating, of course. Being a single parent in Hobbiton, when there was no marriage to speak of, was a mark of shame. The shame wouldn’t be visited on the child, of course; children had no choice about their parents. But Valeria would become a pariah, especially since she refused to speak about what happened while she was gone. And they hadn’t married. Fíli had, of course, promised her that they would be married, but then he went and died, so she was… She would be alone.

 

But that was okay. She would work through it. She hid it as best as she could, even through the sickness and the pain from having a new person growing inside of her. She couldn’t just go to Mam Proudfoot, the midwife, since there hadn’t been a Dwarf Hobbit child in… well, ever, according to the histories. When she got too large to leave the house easily, she paid Ham’s oldest boy to get her things from the marketplace, and made herself a new dress for her party that would hopefully hide it well enough that she could get through the event without an incident.

 

The party was a success, in that no one said anything about her rather large stomach, most probably chalking it up to her gaining weight from being on the road. Once the party was over, she went into seclusion in earnest, as she passed the time that a faunt would be born and entered her second year of being pregnant. She wished idly that she’d thought to ask Balin about dwarrow children, but it was too late for that, so she waited.

 

About three months after her party, Sam, Hamfast’s youngest, came running to her door, knocking rather loudly before letting himself in. “Misress Baggins, there’s dwarves!”

 

“Sam, what on Arda are you talking about?” She stayed on the other side of the counter, her large belly mostly hidden behind it. “Calm down child, and start from the beginning.” Sam was only about 4, there was no way he could have understood whatever it was correctly.

“Misress, da sent me up. There’s dwarves on the Green Way. ‘S what he said, misress!” She stopped chopping, the knife clattering to the counter. 

 

“Well then. Run along home, sweetheart, tell your da I got the message, and have Tyke come up when he has time? I’ll need to set up some rooms for them, probably.” Sam nodded and ran out the way he came, the door slamming shut behind him, and Valeria leaned against the counter, her legs like jelly. Dwarves on the Green Way. This close to the Shire, they could only be one group. 

 

She sagged like that for a few minutes, and then pushed herself back upright, and headed for the guest rooms. They were all put together, of course, but the linens were in the cupboards and not on the beds, and the windows were barred shut. She opened them in each room, setting the linens on the ends of the beds, and then went to make a list for Tyke to take to the market, of meats and cheeses and a cask or two of beer, as well as pipe weed, since she’d stopped smoking until the babe came.

 

It took her a few hours to get the rooms made up, since moving wasn’t as easy as it used to be, and by the time Tyke returned, she was exhausted. Bell showed up, their youngest trailing behind her. “Now, Mistress Baggins, you go rest, you hear me? You’re carrying a lot of weight there to be doing so much. What do you want cooked? The dwarves likely won’t arrive until late tonight, so there’s time.”

 

“Bell, I-” 

 

“No, Miss. Tyke’s been keeping me up on what’s happening up here, and I won’t have you hurting yourself trying to keep it a secret. Go lay down, I’ll take care of everything.”

 

“Thank you, Bell. There’s enough mutton and beef for a few roasts, and things for rolls in the pantry. Leave one of the wheels of cheese whole, if you would, but if you could cut the rest down into wedges? I’ll take Sam, if you please. Come on Sam, come sit with me, there’s a lad.” Over Bell’s protests, Valeria took the faunt and retired to her study and her comfy chair, and bade Sam bring her a book, which she proceeded to read to him to keep him occupied.

 

Bell collected a sleepy Sam just before dinner, waving off Valeria’s offer to feed them, and Valeria was left alone, the roasts settling in the cold box or in the oven in their own juice, and nothing for her to do. She watched out her study window as the light faded completely, wondering who would be in the group and what they would say when they saw her. She couldn’t imagine it would be anything complimentary, and she was mostly dreading it. 

 

Finally, well after supper, she went to change into night clothes, figuring she should at least be comfortable when they arrived, whatever happened after. As soon as she’d cinched her robe, there was a knock on the door, and she made her ponderous way to the door, giving an irritable sigh when the knocking was repeated, more insistently. “Give me a moment! Can’t move as fast as I used to, can I?” she added under her breath, finally reaching the door and barely missing getting a fist to the face as Dwalin went to knock again.

 

“Baggins!” he shouted, a grin lighting his face up. “Lass, you’re a sight for sore eyes. There wasn’t room for us at the inn.”

 

“Dwalin, how many of you are there?” she asked, hiding a little behind the door.

 

“All of us!” he said. “Lass, the Company has come for you.”

 

“... Well, I certainly have room for the ten of you.”

 

“Thirteen.” Her heart stopped.

 

“What do you mean thirteen?” She saw blond hair in the group behind Dwalin and promptly fainted.


End file.
